Fallout
by SJlikeslists
Summary: (Alternate Universe) District 13's safety depends on a delicate balance of power. When an epidemic decimates their community, they decide that they must do whatever they can to keep that balance. District 12 and the rest of Panem have to live with the consequences of their decision.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

She doesn't come here often. The Meadow is technically open to everyone at all times, but that presents as much of a problem as it does a possibility. She comes to the Meadow when she needs quiet, but there is no guarantee that there will be any quiet to be had when she gets there. There may be grazing goats or running children or any other of a number of options that will mean that she should turn around and start walking back to the shop or their little home above it and give in to the fact that she and quiet will not be having a rendezvous on that day.

She loves her sister, but she feels, sometimes, that the two of them drown in each other. They are always the Donner twins - a collective unit rather than two separate individuals. Even Ari, who is their (collective again) best friend, sort of scrunches them together as if they are incapable of functioning without being part of a pair. She doesn't mind most of the time, but she thinks it might be nice to have someone look at her and actually see just plain Maysilee instead of the incomplete half of a whole that she always feels like when someone's eyes ghost over her to find the other Donner girl that they seem to expect to be always attached to her side.

The days when things like that stick with her and worry her - those are the days that she goes for the Meadow. If it is otherwise occupied when she gets there, then she bites down on her frustration and undefined longing for something to be different and goes back about her day. If the Meadow is empty, then she takes advantage while she can. She tosses herself down into the grass and lets herself be still. She has so little of being still in her life, and those moments in the meadow are something she cherishes and harbors as a closely held secret that she has never divulged - not even to her mirror image.

They've fought again. It's ironic that any random person in town would say that the Donner twins are model children that never seem to squabble and are unfailingly polite. The truth is that they fight, and they fight often. It just so happens that they both feel they have better options than to succumb to the temptation of getting loud. Lately, the fights have all been the same - their parents' history lessons. Maysilee is fascinated. She cannot hear enough. She wants to know the whys and the whats and the hows. She is intrigued by the structure of before. She memorizes long sections of text from pamphlets that they are not supposed to have because the paper may wear out, they may be found and confiscated, but they can't take away from her things which she already knows.

Her sister does not see it that way. She has gone from asking why to asking why does it matter. The two of them have this ever growing rift between them when it comes to what it is that they consider important. So, they fight. Then, the smooth it over and cover the rift with the things that they have in common and do their best to pretend that it is not there part of the cycle begins. They do their best to pretend that it does not matter. It may be that her sister is right, and it really does not. They are fifteen. What can she do about injustices? They live in Panem. What can she ever do about the glaring wrongness that she sees around her?

The silent dismissal of her concerns contained in her sister's reproachful glances gets to be too much sometimes. The Meadow is calming. There is something about the grass and the wildflowers and the simple being of a place that is beautiful and practical all at the same time that soothes her frazzled nerves and makes her feel less like she is hovering on the edge of something important without knowing what it is. The Meadow allows her to just be and think her thoughts and not worry about what anyone may think about her thinking them. She can think through her questions for the next time she can get her father or her mother alone. She can ponder why it is when they make the before the before of the rebellion sound so pleasant and sensible that anyone would have ever been willing to let it go in the first place. She has so many questions that do not have answers. She has so many thoughts that will never be safe to voice (even in the carefully constructed solitude of her parents' collection of forbidden things).

She can even wonder what it is that caused the difference (when the two of them are identical in so many other ways) in how the two of them have responded to everything that their parents have tried to teach them. The history they are not supposed to know has taught her to hope that better is something that can be had. It has taught her sister that worse is something that can always be coming. She supposes that means that people are not entirely wrong when they treat them like two halves of a whole.

The Meadow is empty, and she revels in the moment. She takes deep breaths, and she lets the sun soak into her skin. Her peace does not last for long. She brushes the sound off at first thinking that it is carrying from one of the little houses that make up the Seam (crying children are hardly an unusual noise). It doesn't quiet, and she finds herself unable to tune it out. She sits up and shakes off the remains of her physical lethargy and tries to determine the direction of the origin of the sound. She is startled when she realizes that it is coming from the fence. The thought of some poor toddler wandering off and squeezing through one of the gaps only to be unable to get back brings her to her feet, and she rushes in that direction. There are things on the other side of the fence that could kill a small child in a matter of seconds. Fear inducing propaganda or not - wild animals are wild animals.

She follows the noise and finds a small bundle of blankets inside the fence. This is much to her relief as she feels fairly confident that she would have done what was necessary, but the thought of going on her own to the other side is a frightening one. She has only ever crossed to the other side just as far as the first row of apple trees, and she has never gone by herself. The child is maybe two (she is not around small children up close very often), and the three blankets wrapped around him seem excessive for the time of year until she pulls them back and realizes that the little one is burning up with a fever.

Her head is full of questions - the child obviously didn't walk itself to the fence and then wrap itself up so tightly. Her heart clenches at the thought of someone trying to abandon him, but she frowns even as the thought crosses her mind. No one would ever get away with such a thing. All the children of District 12 are registered. She shakes that and all other thoughts off; she has more pressing matters to which she needs to attend. The little one is sick, and she can't just leave him in the grass while she ponders. She scoops him up, and his crying softens just a bit with the motion of walking.

She'll take him to Ari's parents first. They can tell her what to do for him before she goes to the Justice Building. She isn't about to trust that the Peacekeepers would put taking care of a sick child at the top of their priorities. Finding out where he came from can wait - the fact that he is hot enough that her arms feel like they are too close to the stove cannot. She shushes him and tries to be generally comforting, but she really does not have any experience with small children, so she does not know if anything she is doing is right.

The walk back to the shops in town has never felt longer in her life. 

D13 D13 D13 D13 D13 

"You cannot seriously be considering such a thing," the man shook his head glancing at the stack of papers in front of him that contained statistics on infection rates and fatalities and all the other associated numbers that never seemed to quite convey the reality and the tragedy of what it was to deal with a full-fledged epidemic.

"I always seriously consider all possibilities," the woman replied. "That's what makes me the leader here."

"One of the leaders," he reminded her with a sharp look. "The ethics of that plan . . .," he began.

"Ethics don't often have a place in our dealings with the outside, and I won't apologize for that given what we are dealing with every time the above ground is part of the equation."

"I will not be party to . . .," he tried again.

"You won't have to be," she cut him off before he could finish.

"I'm glad you are seeing sense," he sounded relieved but surprised.

"You won't have to be because the decision has already been made," she told him with a smile that was just a touch vindictive. "As a matter of fact, it has already been implemented. You can go off and enjoy your clear conscious and moral high ground. I'll be in my office reflecting on the balance of power remaining intact."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

In District 13 with its recycled air and the fundamental inability of its people to stay away from each other, an airborne virus spread like wildfire. This was bad enough when it was something annoying but simple like a head cold. When the virus in question was more virulent and serious, the consequences were dire. They noticed when the coughing and congestion started to spread (as all such things were tracked and monitored), but they did not realize the severity of what they were dealing with until the coughing was followed by fevers and the fevers by system failures and deaths. They attempted containment as best they could, but the damage already inflicted was devastating. People were not intended to live completely without sunlight, and the lack left them particularly vulnerable to an entire subset of diseases and conditions. The epidemic which they were currently riding out proved to be one of them.

That's when the suggestions started. They had to be very careful of their dealings with the outside. They existed in an impasse. Any shift on either side could end that impasse, and District 13 had no illusions about their fate were that shift not to occur in their favor. There had always been those within the upper levels of the District hierarchy that held that they were only biding their time until their District could afford to make a move. With the disarray of the current situation and the absence of certain authority holding persons who would normally have offered them opposition, they saw a chance and decided to take it.

It seemed a perfect position for them to be in as they made the final call. They could not afford for information on their weakened state to get out unless, of course, the other side was facing a similarly weakening crisis of its own. The common consensus had always been that the structure and terrain involved made a frontal assault an impossibility. An attack that they would carry into their borders on their own was another matter entirely. No one would be able to track anything back to District 13. They were, after all, isolated. There would be no reason to suspect their involvement.

They would not achieve anything decimating. They had studied the projections and knew that without the restraints of enclosed spaces and lowered immune systems (not to mention the higher quality medical care) there would not be as high of an infection rate or a fatality rate among the infected. Still, it was a chance to do something. They might even get lucky. How many of the people in their precious, protected city would ignore the fact that they were sick in order to indulge in their cherished Hunger Games parties and events?

They did not spend much time pondering District 12. It was just a step in the process - a vector to move their virus from point A to point B. Losses happened. Everyone in the Districts of Panem should know that already. They were not trying to cause widespread harm in Twelve to hurt the people there. They just needed enough saturation to ensure that the virus made its way onto that train. Nature would take over from there. They had estimates, of course, but most of them did not worry over those. They were focused on their goal. The projections would not have done them much good even if they had paid attention. Projections can only be as good as the quality and quantity of information going into them. They had figured on open space and not thought about the realities of workers in the mines. They had reconfigured for immune systems uncompromised by living under the ground and not adjusted for ones compromised by malnutrition. In short, they had done a shoddy job because they really did not care to know.

It wasn't the first time that District 12 had been used as a means to an end.

Ari's mother had been less than pleased when Maysilee had trudged into the apothecary's shop and plopped a sick child on the bench next to the door. She may have known her remedies and been the obvious person for Maysilee to ask, but she was a strict adherent to the belief that the sick should be kept home. There was much muttering about "traipsing about without a lick of sense" and "as if the rest of the world wants a share of what you have" whenever someone obviously ill darkened her doorstep instead of sending a relation to pick up what was needed or ask someone from the shop to stop by and make a recommendation. Maysilee had tried to explain her reasoning, but she had been met with even more muttering about incomprehensible teenage girls picking up strange children.

"Like as not you'll end up with Peacekeepers breathing down all our necks for making off with someone's child," she had been saying as she crushed up something and mixed it into a glass of water.

Maysilee had given up on trying to explain by that point. Ari's mother never listened well when she did not want to hear what was being said. She could put up with all the grumbling as long as she got what she had come for in the first place.

"All over you," the woman stated with a shake of her head as she watched the child muffle another fit of coughing in Maysilee's shirt. "You'll be down with it next, and I'll thank you to stay away from Ari until you're well over it," she admonished. "Get him to drink this," she ordered, "and then get to the Justice Building without any detours. You go straight home from there and clean up, do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," she recited dutifully as she tried to figure out how to arrange the little one on her lap to make the drinking process work. Ari's mother chuckled at her clumsy attempts before turning to head back behind the counter.

"Don't spill that on my floor," she commanded. "And you remember our terms."

"I won't forget," Maysilee promised thinking about the best way to explain to her parents that she had bartered an assortment of candy for Ari's next birthday in exchange for medicine for a child she didn't know. It wasn't so much that she thought that she would be in trouble as that there didn't seem to be a way to explain without the story sounding bad. Her parents would tell her that she had overreacted - holding to the point that the woman still chuckling at her attempts at coaxing the reluctant toddler into taking sips did. No one would abandon a child in Twelve. There simply wasn't any way to not be found out.

The Peacekeepers had scoffed and told her much the same thing when she had finally arrived after an excruciating forty minutes of pleading and cajoling and being splattered with spit while no less than three persons prolonged their transactions in the apothecary shop in order to stare at her. Then, there was a particularly rude boy from the Seam that she knew enough of to avoid at school who had decided that he had nothing better to do than block her path and make crude, insulting statements about where she might have gotten herself a baby. She didn't feel even remotely badly when a particularly violent round of coughing ended with the atrocious boy getting a face full of snot.

Later, she would regret thinking that he deserved it.


	3. Chapter 3

The male Tribute on Reaping Day is coughing heavily right before he goes through the motions of the obligatory handshake. The female Tribute is still too stunned by the fact that it was her name that got called to demonstrate any sign that she noticed that he had just been covering his mouth with the hand that was reaching out to take hers. He didn't look well, but that didn't matter to the Peacekeepers escorting him from the stage. Not well isn't a good enough reason for skipping out on Reaping Day (one must be bedridden at the very least). Maysilee suspects that if a bedridden teenager's name got called that they would simply be carried off to the train and deposited on board anyway. It isn't as if one needed to be in good health in order to die for other people's entertainment.

It was not her name or her sister's that came out of the Reaping Bowl. It was not Ari's or the baker's boy that trails after her with that puppy dog look that she somehow never notices. Those are the only people she knows well enough for a Reaping to be personal, so she can go through with her plans for the rest of the day. It sounds callous, and there is a degree of callousness involved. Mostly, it is practical. She is sorry for the children who are going off to be dehumanized and murdered. She is sorrier still for the families and friends who have to watch it happen. What else is there to do on this day but be sorry? She has other things that she can do - like checking in on her little boy.

The matron at the children's home will not be happy to see her on the doorstep again, but the woman will not outright refuse her entrance. She does not muddle the other woman's schedule, and she does not get in the way. She will actually be saving the woman some time because with her there she will not have to delegate someone to go and attempt to feed the sick child. She wishes that she could take him home with her, but she knows that that would never happen. Her parents would put their foot down on that. The actual rules are lax enough, but the voluntary taking in of an unrelated child from the group home would be such an unheard of occasion that the Peacekeepers would feel obligated to do the checking into the prospective family quite thoroughly in response. The relics of the world before Panem and the rebellion that her family keeps are hidden well enough for day to day life, but they could not chance much in the way of unnecessary scrutiny.

The compromise is that they will not complain about her going to visit as long as her chores are still completed and her schoolwork does not suffer. She scoffs at that second one because she has been able to recite the propaganda of the history books verbatim since she was seven (and been able to produce the accurate counter information from memory since she was eight). She knows all about the production of coal and has not had to think about what she was doing in one of the practical math courses for so long that it is actually quite depressing to consider the implications. The thought that her schoolwork might suffer in consequence of her spending time coaxing some water down the throat of a sick little boy is laughable. Her parents are tolerant of her interest - they think she is developing some sort of a complex about being powerless in the larger context and wanting to help where she can. They think that the Peacekeepers will get around to finding the child's family as soon as they are no longer busy with all of the preparations for the Reaping to keep them occupied.

Her sister was actually the one who commented that they really ought to have come looking for him already by now. Everyone went silent after that - thinking that maybe they were too sick themselves to do so. There was really nothing else to think (that made sense anyway).

The matron sighs and lets her in without another word. One of the older boys grumbles as she walks by him in the hall "thanks a lot" before bumping her shoulder with his and knocking her into the wall. She guesses why when she reaches the infirmary and realizes that all eight of the beds are now full (only three of them had been the day before) with two pallets set up in addition on the floor. There is coughing everywhere, and the two older girls who have been landed with helping for their chores for the day glare at her as she makes her way to the little figure curled up in the bed in the corner.

It has been six days, and his cough is still there even though his fever has broken. He does not do much more than sleep as if the illness has wiped him out and left him unable to function. She dribs and drabs water down his throat for nearly an hour while she rocks him in her lap. She spares a guilty glance at the others in the room (stopping once to help a tiny girl whose fingers cannot seem to close around the cup that has been left beside her). She can't do everything she tells herself before she stops in the doorway on her way out. She sighs and looks over her shoulder. She decides that it is sort of her fault that they are all sick. She can't do everything (she thinks about the 24 children riding on trains), but she can do this. She turns herself back around and starts to make a round of the room. She is very late coming home, but her parents choose not to say anything.

By the time the interviews roll around, District 12 is a little bit distracted. The group home has thirty sick children and two bed ridden adults. Ari's parents are both keeping to the upstairs of their shop while Ari tends the counter and mixes up remedies to haul up to them between customers. The virus is everywhere in the Seam and in half the houses in town. Maysilee is pretty sure that she should avoid all the Peacekeepers for the time being as they are divided into two groups - those that are down with the sickness and those who are working double shifts to cover the vacant slots. She heard herself being pointed out as the "stupid girl who plunked the sick kid down in the middle of the office" when she passed two of them on the sidewalk on her way home from school.

There are at least three fits of coughing from different Tributes during their interviews and a couple more look as if they are uncomfortably warm in their interview outfits. The boy from Twelve looks glassy eyed as if he has been dosed with something and seems to have trouble concentrating on what is being asked. Maysilee does not think she has ever seen a Tribute sick before the Games before, and she wonders why they have not given him and the others something to make them better. They have all sorts of medicines that people like Ari's parents out in the Districts can only dream about - she's heard some lamenting on the subject from that quarter often enough.

She decides to go check on her foundling before she goes to bed. It is well after supper. She should not be wandering around, but she is restless and can't seem to settle to any task around the house. She hears a cough from the kitchen on her way to the door and cringes that she has brought it home with her. She'll volunteer to mind the shop and maybe they won't be too upset with her. There is some sort of a commotion going on when she arrives; no one meets her at the door. She hears a voice that she recognizes as the District doctor (he has a bit of a sweet tooth and is one of the few in the District who can afford to indulge on a regular basis) as she makes her way down the hall and knows that something bad must have happened if they have called him. He is saying something about "likely febrile seizures" as she stops in the doorway and realizes why the two figures with blankets pulled over their heads are not moving at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

The 49th Annual Hunger Games collapses in on itself.

The female Tribute from Twelve does not make it to the actual start of the Games. She is blown up as the countdown reaches the fifteen second mark after she suffers some sort of a dizzy spell and loses her balance. The large step she takes to the side in an attempt to regain it is the last move that she ever makes. She is not the only one who appears to be unsteady on her feet. The girl from Eight wobbles so badly as she runs away from the Cornucopia that it actually saves her life when a spear is sent in her direction. The boy from Five is spared what likely would have been a decapitation when the girl from One has a sudden fit of coughing that drops her to her knees (the terrified looking girl from Nine seems to consider approaching the momentarily incapacitated Career with the knife that she has picked up several yards away before she seems to decide that running in the opposite direction is the better option). The Bloodbath is still a bloodbath but on a smaller scale than usual. There are still eighteen players in the Games when it comes to an end.

Far away and under the ground, reports are being drawn up on the topics of mutations and the evolution of viruses. Projections are once again the order of the day, and they are more carefully studied and prepared. Comments are bandied back and forth about decreased incubation times and what might be happening in homes and on streets that will never be made public to those on the outside. There are whispers of goals being reached and chances for improvement. There are backroom conversations about the possibilities of tweaking nature just a little and broadening out the scope of what has proven to be a way around impenetrable defenses. Other backrooms are buzzing with indignation at what they are seeing and hearing. The whispers in those speak of people who are untrustworthy and in need of monitoring. They plot removals from power, discuss mitigation of damage, and stress the necessity of not becoming what you fight. They are soon embroiled in their own turmoil and internal politics and have neither the time nor the inclination to stay abreast of everything that they have wrought in the world outside.

By day three, there are seven players with fevers high enough that they are obviously hallucinating. Lack of water (because they are simply too ill and lacking in clarity to go looking for it) has become the most likely killer for them in the arena. It is only a matter of time. The male Tribute from Twelve had actually appeared to have reached the point where his fever had broken. It was the post illness weakness that killed him when he slid into a creek trying to get a drink and could not find the strength to lift himself back out. The female Tribute from Three died from apparent asphyxiation when a coughing fit left her unable to drawn in any air. The little boy (a twelve year old) from Three is the only person in the Arena exhibiting no symptoms although the seventeen year old girl from Eleven does not appear to be much worse off than someone with a bad cold. Both of them have found places to hole up and seem to be fairly oblivious to what is going on in the rest of the Arena.

It's probably incredibly boring for the viewers - if there are any watching.

They aren't watching in Twelve. They are going through the motions of mandatory viewing times, but there are more pressing concerns for most of the populace. The Peacekeepers are forgoing the District Doctor altogether and handing out permission to skip required appearances in the Square right and left to anyone who even looks like they may be about to cough. They aren't sending patrols out to check up on people either. They are too desperate to avoid any chance at contamination. They are down to thirty percent of their force in a condition to be out and about and keeping order. They have a few members who are on the mend, but they have also buried three of their own.

In the rest of the District, the numbers are much worse. There were eighteen deaths on the second day of the Games alone. People are scared, people are angry, but they are too exhausted to do much about either. The ones who are not sick themselves are worn down with trying to keep up with the care of the ones who are. That state of exhaustion often leads to them taking sick themselves.

Maysilee has to live with knowing that she is the one who started it all.

The District Doctor caught her that night at the group home and ordered her to stay put in a far too late of an attempt to cut down on the spread (it was a pointless exercise as he had no authority to shut down the mines where the early stage sick took themselves every day too afraid of the consequences of a lost paycheck to stay home). She spent a miserable forty-eight hours dealing with the accusing looks and nasty name calling of the residents as she tried to make herself useful by hauling water and making a sorry excuse for broth and trying anything she could think of to keep the sick ones cool enough that there were no more incidences of seizures. It worked for some but not for others. Three more of the children had them, but only one ended in a repeat of the scene that she had first walked in on what felt like a lifetime before.

When the Doctor realized that she was not exhibiting any symptoms despite her repeated and lengthy exposure, he told her he was assigning her a job to do whether she wanted it or not. She asked to bring her foundling - knowing there was already too much work in the group home to go around. He sighed and looked at her reproachfully but eventually said that he didn't see why not. The little boy was fever free and only had the occasional cough lingering, but he was so tired that he resembled a newborn kitten more than he did a human boy.

Maysilee tries not to cry when the Doctor hands her a list of suggested remedies at the doorway of the apothecary and tells her that she is going to have to take it over because he has no chance of keeping up with everything all by himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The _Hunger Games_ is not mine.

District 12 has been quarantined.

It is not the first time that she has ever heard the word, but it is the first occasion where she has ever seen it put into wide scale practice. They have been cut off from everything. There are no trains coming in or going out; there is no signal coming across for the televisions to play. It is like they flipped a switch somewhere to prevent any information from getting to them (she is fairly certain that is exactly what has happened but figures that she will never know for sure). The power being pumped in from outside the District is still sort of on more often than it is not. She isn't counting on that continuing. Even if that is what normal is for the Seam, she knows enough to know that it isn't normal for the Justice Building.

She's heard the Peacekeepers muttering. They are too occupied to bother to recognize her any longer. They have larger concerns - like the fact that they have been cut off as well. They weren't moved out before everything shut down. They have become (at least temporarily) residents instead of stationees. The uncomfortable way they look after coming out of the Justice Building where they get their orders at the start of their shifts tells her that they aren't getting any information about what is going on either.

District 12 is not meant to survive on its own. None of the Districts are. It is part of the design of the system - everyone must be dependent. It is amongst the earliest of the lessons that she learned at her father's knees. The little attempts at gardens that are scattered outside of people's houses throughout both Seam and Town are meant to help families ease their financial burdens and improve their chances of getting through the rougher seasons. They are not meant to supply them with everything that they need. They are not meant to feed anyone outside of immediate family. They are most definitely not designed to provide enough to feed an occupying force of armed Peacekeepers who have suddenly found themselves without supplies.

The Peacekeepers are getting hungry. She knows how dangerous that is. She imagines that most of the District would feel the expectation of something hanging over all of their heads if they were not so distracted by the first crisis still going on amongst them. She does not know how many people have died. She is fairly certain that the official government record keeping has been tossed out of a window. The Peacekeepers no longer go to collect bodies (not wanting any further exposure themselves). They don't want anyone going into their Headquarters, so the usual mandatory reporting would not be occurring even if someone was still trying to make an effort at record keeping.

She knows enough to know that they are losing less people to the actual illness than they are to the lack of available care. She knows how hard she had to work to get her foundling to keep drinking water while he was ill. She knows how much effort she had to put into coaxing him to eat after he was out of danger from the fever. People that are alone or surrounded only by also ill family members are dying of dehydration and the further compounding of their already all too often malnourished state more often than they are from the actual respiratory distress and high fever in her suddenly expected to be professional opinion.

She is the apothecary now, and she has never found anything more exhausting in her life. She is up and down the stairs all day long (and night as well) trying to tend to Ari's family and see to the people that enter the shop desperate for something to help. Ari's mother seems to have a milder case of whatever it is than the rest of the household, but she is still unsteady on her feet and more focused on her sick husband and child than she is with whoever may happen to wander through her door. She barks instructions at Maysilee every time that she reports that they have run out of something else, but she has never said the words that Maysilee has expected ever since she first entered the house - that this is her fault.

Ari is seemingly stable most of the time, but her father keeps having some sort of a spell that Maysilee does not understand. She just follows her friend's mother's directions about what to bring her from below stairs and knows just enough to recognize that it is not anything that she has told her to hand out to anyone else.

"Immune," the woman pronounces as Maysilee places the tray with the tea set that she was asked to bring on the chair next to the bed where she is sitting beside Ari and checking her over. "It's the only explanation. You are worn out, and you should have dropped by now."

Maysilee does not know how to respond to that. She does not know if there is any way that she can respond to that. She is also so tired that she has given up on doing much in the way of thinking. She is following the directions that she is given. She is going through the motions of keeping the house somewhat straightened up and finding something to offer everyone to eat (something that is getting more difficult and is one of those things that she feels too tired to think about clearly).

"Your sister isn't sick either, is she?" The woman asks. Maysilee blinks and takes a moment longer than she should to answer.

"No," she states slowly. She had checked in after the District Doctor ordered her to take over the apothecary shop to find that their mother and father were both ill and being taken care of by her twin. She had taken over a supply of one of the concoctions from the shop, but she had not been back for a couple of days. She should go check on them again. She would add that to her mental to do list if she could find it in the clouded over, muddled mess that was her head.

"Immune," the woman repeated. "The two of you are immune. There are likely others scattered around. They're likely too buried under work to show themselves much - just like you. You need to go take a nap. You look worse than Ari." The woman stared her down while Maysilee tried to process what she was hearing. "Go on," the woman stated. "You aren't proving anything by working yourself to the bone."

"The shop," Maysilee tried to protest.

"There's nothing left in there to give anyone for this," the woman countered. "You told me that yourself this morning."

"I need to . . .," she tried.

"Go to bed. I've obviously got a mild case, and I'm better enough to see to things for a few hours. That'll teach the old goat in the other room to make fun of my tea regimen." She finished off with the closest thing to a pleased expression that Maysilee had seen from her since the whole thing started.

"I've got . . .," she wasn't allowed to continue.

"Maysilee Donner you get yourself onto that sofa and knock off that martyr complex you are nursing." The woman gestured at Ari who was wincing from the loudness of her mother's voice and then toward the open window. "This was not your doing, but we need to do some talking and I would prefer you to be awake enough to pay attention while we are doing it."

Maysilee couldn't remember getting to the sofa. She did remember that it had been before noon when she was making the tea, and she could see that it was dark when she woke to fingers tugging on her hair and a voice chanting "MayMay."

"Hey little one," she stated disentangling herself enough to sit up and try to rub out the gunk that seemed to be wanting to hold her eyes closed.

"She's awake, Anise," she heard a voice say from the doorway. She turned her head to see that her ears were not playing tricks on her. It was the District Doctor standing there. "If you are finally done sleeping," he began, "get yourself cleaned up and come down to join the planning session."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

She looked at the fence in front of her as if she had never seen it before. In some ways, she never had. It had always been a part of the landscape. It had always been a barrier that kept some things out while keeping the residents of District 12 in with its threat of electrocution. There was no threat of that now. No power for the District also meant no power for the fence. It was still a fence, but it was different now. There was no more threat. She was being actively encouraged (all but ordered really) to slip out to the other side.

The power had been off when she had woken to find the District Doctor offering his invitation to attend the planning session (as he had called it). Ari's mother had allowed an odd assortment of people to gather in her shop - a young man from the Seam sat looking uncomfortable next to a barely older than him Peacekeeper while an older woman that she recognized as the butcher's mother sat knitting next to the doctor. Ari's mother had steeped some sort of a tea from something that Maysilee could not recognize (given the state of the supplies still in the apothecary shop when last she had looked, she was likely better off not knowing what she was drinking). She had had no idea what she was getting herself into when she took the seat that Anise waved her toward before a coughing fit sent the woman abruptly sitting in one of her own and left Maysilee to fill cups while the conversation ebbed and flowed around her.

She was still not sure that she knew what she had gotten herself into or why she had been included at all. They could have just told her what they wanted her to do later. They sort of did just tell her what they wanted her to do as they went. That was why she was standing next to the fence that was suddenly no longer marking forbidden territory feeling as if her life had been turned even more upside down than it had been by the epidemic. She had permission to go to the other side of the fence. She was not just going to dart across to gather a few apples and come dashing back. She was supposed to go beyond the apple trees. She was supposed to go out of sight of the fence. Peacekeepers had told her to go beyond the fence. Peacekeepers had told her to break the laws - only it was a little iffy what the laws actually were any more. The Peacekeepers were just as hungry as anyone else, and they were willing to do what they thought they needed to to rectify that.

She looked at the boy standing a few feet away from her looking at the fence every bit as intently as she had been for the last few minutes. He was her age. She knew that much from having seen him at school, but she could not think of his name. It might have been that she had never heard it. They had always been rather self-contained - she and her sister and Ari.

They had told her to be at this place at the fence at this time, and she had done as directed. There were supposed to be three of them going out together this morning (with other groups being staggered through the rest of the day). Anise was enough better that she could handle the sick of her household on her own. She had taken on Maysilee's foundling for the day as well with a terse instruction that Maysilee was to come back with a name picked out for the little boy. She had checked in with her family to find that her father seemed to have a mild case and was already able to help her sister with their mother who was decidedly sicker. A conference with her twin had led to further instructions to do what she had been told. The lack of materials coming into the District (coupled with the limited manner in which items came in when the trains were running) was leaving everyone in a precarious position. They couldn't just sit back and wait. They needed to do something before they slipped over the edge from precarious to desperate.

"Have you ever been on the other side before?" Maysilee questioned trying to relieve some of the awkwardness of the moment.

"Have you?" The boy challenged back defensively before giving the soft cough that seemed typical of mild cases in recovery. She kind of hated that she had seen enough to be able to identify that.

"Just to the apple trees," she offered trying not to take the hostile posture personally. "You?" She tried again.

"Just to the outside edge of the far ones on a dare," he told her with an appraising look as if he was attempting to determine the motivation behind her asking.

"Oh," she muttered before she could stop herself.

"Just because I'm from the Seam . . .," he started puffing up as if he had just been waiting for the opportunity to be offended.

"No," Maysilee interrupted before he could really get going. "I just thought they might send someone who knew what they were looking for with each group."

"Fat chance of that," the boy told her before responding to the questioning eyebrow that she raised. "Like anyone was going to fess up to making a habit of going the other side of the fence all official like to Peacekeepers."

"But the Peacekeepers said . . .," she tried to argue.

"They're Peacekeepers." He told her looking at her with an expression of disgust at the level of stupidity that he obviously felt that she was displaying. "Someday, things are going to go back to the way that they were. People have long memories. Nobody wants Peacekeepers being able to use them."

Maysilee didn't bother to tell him that she believed he was wrong. They were being loosely organized into scavenger groups in an attempt to keep their cut off District at some level of functioning. They were being sent off into the world beyond the fence. Something had happened to District 5 to cut off their power supply. Something was happening in the seat of power to have caused them to stop the trains and turn off the communication. She was very sure that nothing was ever going to go back to the way that it had been again.

"Good. You're both on time," a voice from behind made her jump. The boy beside her didn't display any surprise; he just narrowed his eyes at the newcomers. Maysilee recognized them both from the planning session. The young man from the Seam had been called Everdeen by Anise.

"You remember Maysilee from the meeting, right?" Everdeen asked the Peacekeeper who nodded his head and grinned at her. "This is Haymitch," he continued gesturing at the boy who had been waiting beside her. "This is Carter," he introduced the Peacekeeper in turn. "He's going to watch your back out there."

Haymitch looked at the gun in the Peacekeeper's hand, and then gave a pointed look at Maysilee as if to say that the fact that the Peacekeeper was armed and they were not had just proved his earlier point.

"I wrote you out some notes," Everdeen was saying. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I drew some pictures to go with them." Maysilee took the paper from his hands.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted softly.

"I don't think any of us do," he admitted back. "You better get going. Make sure you are back before dark."

The three of them looked at each other, at the fence, and back at each other. It was Maysilee that took the first step in that direction, and the other two fell into step beside her. She could have told Haymitch that in that moment she was quite certain that nothing would ever be able to go back to the way that it had been before, but she kept quiet. The woods outside of District 12 were looming in front of her, and she did not know how she should feel about that.


	7. In Universe Additional One Shot

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ does not belong to me.

"Wait," Carter called out before the other man could get too far away. "Could we just drop the pretense and stop pretending that this idea isn't stupid?" The other three stared at him warily. He sighed and wiped an arm across his forehead. It struck Maysilee that he looked nervous standing there. She had seen a lot of unusual things from Peacekeepers recently, but she had yet to see one be that open about letting the District residents see any emotions other than annoyance and anger and snide arrogance. (The ones that came into the shop were never emotional at all - just businesslike.)

"Look, I've been here for almost three years," he told them. "It took me all of a month to find my way to the Hob. I know you know what you're looking for out there. I've bought the stuff you've brought in - you and I both know it. I don't know anything about plants." He swung his arm out to indicate Maysilee. "I don't think she knows what she's doing." He pointed at the boy next to her. "I've never seen him doing any trading with wild produce in our quaint little black market. You should be the one leading this little exhibition. We're all about to start getting desperate here. This isn't time to follow the official line for the sake of following the official line."

"We were supposed . . . ."

"I know what we are supposed to do. We're supposed to pretend that the Capital is still in control. They aren't - not here. I may be a Peacekeeper, but what I really am is just another person who got abandoned in this District. The boss is afraid the regular suppliers will make a break for it if he sanctions you going out - we all know that's a pointless worry. If any of you were going to jump from this sinking ship, you would just do it. It's not like any of you have waited for an official endorsement before. He's also afraid if he sends out one of us with more than two of you at a time, you all will start realizing the number and firepower situation isn't in our favor and start picking us off one by one. Let's be honest - there's no reason to wait until we're out in the woods for that. Not that I'm looking to get stabbed in the back, but, really, what would be the point? We've got bigger problems."

"You're telling me to come with you?"

"I'm asking you to go with them," Carter replied after a moment. "It's a better idea."

"What will you be doing then?" Haymitch groused.

"Going hunting," Carter asserted.

Chris just raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I may not know anything about plants, but I'm not completely useless. I had a grandfather who liked to take the kind of vacations where you came back with trophies for the mantle once upon a time. I remember enough for it to be worth a shot. And we both know I've got a better chance at something like a deer if I don't have a noise making audience trailing after me," he appealed to Chris.

Maysilee could not be sure whether it was the woods that were distressing her or the fact that she knew there were things in these woods that they needed that she had no idea how to find that was causing the disquiet. Useless was not a feeling with which she was comfortable. She had had quite enough of that over the last couple of weeks to last her a lifetime. The whole point of crossing the boundary of the fence was to be doing something to fight against the notion of being useless in the face of the crisis. That was never going to be accomplished if she ended up rooted in one spot like a tree because she let her emotions get the best of her. People needed help. She needed to keep moving.

Haymitch Abernathy's sense of humor leaves much to be desired, however, Maysilee does admit to herself (not out loud, never out loud) that it does serve the purpose of allowing her to think of something other than how disconcerting she finds it to be on this side of the fence (for longer than it takes to run to the apple trees on the edge). His random comments (snarky and often ill-timed as they are) break the tension in a manner for which she cannot help but be grateful. It does not occur to her until they have been out there for what feels like forever to her (but she knows has really only been a couple of hours) that he may be doing it on purpose.

It is not as if the kids that live on the Seam side of the District spend all of their free time in the woods either. There are a few families that subsidize their living with regular trips, but those families are few and far between (the things they bring back would be less coveted if there were more people going she supposes, but more people making a habit of breaking the rules - no matter how sparingly enforced - would make a crackdown on all of them more likely). Haymitch obviously does not belong to one of those families. After she starts watching for it, she realizes that she can spot little signs that might indicate that his nerves are giving him trouble. Just as those ticks appear, he always makes another comment. He is breaking the tension for himself, but it is working just as well for her. She is grateful (even though she knows full well that he isn't doing it for her). Their other companion obviously knows exactly what he is doing out in the woods (every bit as obviously as she and Haymitch do not).

There should be a certain amount of camaraderie between her and the boy beside her based on their mutual unease, but the fact that the other two are both male and from the Seam seems to be leaving her as the odd person out anyway. She does not think that it is intentional - it is just the sort of thing that happens. She doesn't bother wondering if things would have been different if Carter had come with them as had been the original plan. She doesn't really want to know the answer.

Besides, she can think of a very good reason for her to be intentionally ostracized.

She keeps waiting for someone to say it to her. She actually wants someone to say it to her. She thinks she may need someone to say it to her. It is her fault - not completely she knows. She isn't the one who left a sick child in the meadow to be found, but she is the one who did the finding. She is the one who did the bringing. Everything happened so fast. Everything spread like wildfire, and it all began with her. She's been so worn down and tired, but the thoughts still manage to make themselves known. She likes to think that no one would have left the little one just suffering there. She likes to think that whoever had gotten there first would have done whatever they could have to try to help. It just happened to be her. She just happened to be the one to set off an epidemic that is destroying her District.

She can't get sick apparently. She is immune or whatever it was that Ari's mother had called her. She isn't going to die from this illness. She just has to watch other people die knowing that she is the one that brought it to them. She has to live with that. She has to live with seeing things and knowing things and the look in people's eyes when there was nothing left for her to do to help them. Although, if their little foray into the woods isn't at least moderately successful, then neither she nor anyone else is going to be living with it for long.

District Twelve cannot take care of itself. It was never meant to - that is what the Capital has accomplished better than anything else with all of their machinations over the years. They have bred that ability to multitask out of the people (or, at least, they have done their level best to make that the case). She cannot decide whether it is comforting or sad that they have done it to themselves every bit as much. The Capital has gotten too used to being provided with things rather than doing the providing. Even if everything from their technology to their food is more elaborate than anything most people in the Districts ever dream of, the raw materials all come from elsewhere. Whether the trains aren't running because everyone is sick and there aren't enough well people left to direct them or because the Capital is trying to quarantine everyone in the hopes of making the illness stop spreading, the truth is that the people in the Capital will be suffering every bit as much as the people in the Districts are with the lack of supplies. (That will be the case for some more than others of course. She feels like District 11 is probably the best place to be - food that they know how to harvest even if the methods for how to save it for later may have been lost to them. There have got to be older ones in their District who still remember how. They may not be getting any coal for them to heat with come winter, but they have plenty of trees there. That's got to be worth something.)

She needs someone to blame her. She sits and thinks of that as she looks at the measly set of items that they have managed to gather. There are a whole lot of people back inside that fence that need something to help get them through to getting better. There are a whole lot more people for whom getting better won't matter if there isn't a new source of food coming into the District.

She started this. She has to do better. They need to eat. The weak ones (the ones that made it through the illness itself) need nursing that no one is going to be able to give them if they are too weak themselves.

"I can't feed the whole District on snares and wild greens," the leader of their expedition says out of the blue as if he has been reading her mind. One look at the slump of his shoulders tells her that that isn't the case. Those are his own thoughts and fears and inadequacies spilling out of him. She wishes that she had something to say to make it better, but she doesn't. He isn't wrong. They can't feed the whole of District Twelve on a few rabbits, a couple of squirrels, and a basket full of leaves that she has never even seen before. The weight of the situation is too heavy.

"Lucky for you, it isn't the whole District anymore," Haymitch states in the same drawling, aloof tone in which he has made his asides during the whole course of the morning. It is inappropriate in the extreme. It is morbid. It is just wrong . . . everything is just wrong.

She's laughing. She doesn't know why. She doesn't even know how she got started. She just is, and she can't seem to stop. She shouldn't be laughing. There is no reason to be laughing. There is nothing about any of this that should have her doing anything other than crying, but the only tears that are coming are the ones that are leaking out of her eyes because she can't breathe because the laughter simply will not stop.

"Is she broken?" She hears Haymitch ask. She doesn't hear an answer from the other man, but that may be because she literally can't hear him over the sound of her own hysterical (it has to be hysterical, there is no other explanation) laughter.

"Crazy girl," she hears muttered from somewhere behind her. She wants to tell Haymitch that he is right (but she can't because the laughter just will not stop). She thinks she has gone crazy. She thinks she might actually enjoy being crazy if it wasn't proving to be so completely terrifying to be unable to control her own actions and responses. If she was crazy, then maybe she wouldn't have to feel this way anymore.

She is very sure that something about her is broken, but she is equally as sure that the combination of things that have broken her have absolutely nothing to do with Haymitch and his chronic need to keep talking. She doesn't know how long the inappropriate laughter continues, but it feels never ending. She feels a tentative pat on her shoulder that sends her into further spasms at the sheer awkwardness of it. She's sure the attempt at comfort, calm, silencing, or whatever it was came from Chris. It doesn't strike her as a Haymitch sort of a move.

"Probably shouldn't touch her. It might be catching," his voice confirms her theory.

"Hush," he chides. "Maysilee?"

She takes a gasping breath sucking in as much air as she can manage as there is finally a respite from her out of control actions. The laughter is replaced by hiccoughs. They are uncomfortable (and still out of her control), but she can breathe better and there isn't anything drowning out the sound of Haymitch's commentary (only she thinks that she has shocked him into silence because the commentary has suddenly disappeared). She brushes that thought away as quickly as she can because she can feel the impulse to start laughing again come with it. Haymitch has one eyebrow quirked up when she raises her head; Chris looks as though he is trying for a sympathetic look when all she can see is the panicked expression that tells her that he is terrified she is going to start up again. She may be very lost inside her head at the moment, but she knows that she does not want that.

"If we are finished indulging in our little trip to crazy land . . .," Haymitch trails off expectantly.

"We have a job to do," Maysilee finishes for him.

"Do you . . . do you need to talk about it?" A hesitant voice asks - she can almost hear the unspoken "please say no" that he utters in his head afterward.

"Don't encourage her!" Haymitch admonishes in a near yelp even as he offers a hand to pull her to her feet. "We do not have time for this."

It is ill-mannered, but it is also very, very true so she takes that hand and lets him help heft her to her feet. She brushes her hands down her sides to knock off any clinging dirt - not that she supposes that it matters, but habits are habits. She smoothes out the list of medicinal plants from Ari's mother that has been riding around in her pocket and glances over it. Haymitch seems to be giving her the benefit of the doubt that over means over and is tapping his foot in impatience as he waits.

She ignores his display of impatience and holds the piece of paper that she has been carrying out to Chris. He blinks at her as if the idea of a list has never occurred to him before, and she has to wave it at him to get him to actually take it from her.

"All of this?" He asks sounding overwhelmed a few seconds later. She can't exactly cast stones at that having just completed an overwhelmed moment of her own, but she does her best to make her smile reassuring.

"Whatever of it we can find and carry back," she says. "This won't be our only trip," she tells him. "Anything we are bringing in is something we didn't have before."

He blinks at her like the words are foreign to his ears but slowly nods his head.

"We can do this," she tries to sound the exact opposite of how she feels, but the snort from Haymitch's direction tells her that she didn't exactly succeed in that endeavor. She tries again and gives him a challenging look in addition.

"Sure," he agrees with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. "What else are we going to do?"

No one bothers to answer.


	8. Additional One Shot 2

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ does not belong to me.

"Eight thousand three hundred and forty seven."

"What?"

"That was the official population of the District on Reaping Day," the man nervously fidgeting from his place off to the side of the room explains, "eight thousand three hundred and forty seven." He seems to be considering something for a moment. "That, of course, doesn't include the Peacekeepers. Our contingent is not particularly large, but the District office isn't privy to the official number. I would guess that it is eighty seven."

Maysilee isn't the only one who blinks at him in confusion. She knows that Mr. Undersee works in some sort of record keeping department, but she can't remember for certain which one. She still doesn't know why she is being included in these meetings - let alone why everyone else might be there. Ultimately, the number of them that are both well themselves and do not have anyone depending on them for care is small enough that she supposed the planning meetings have to take whatever they can get.

"I could be wrong," he states hurriedly looking like he wishes that everyone would stop looking at him. "We aren't supposed to count them, and their supply deliveries don't process through the same way that other shipments do, but . . . well . . . ."

"Just spit it out already. No one is coming to charge you with treason for knowing something that you aren't supposed to know - not anymore." Chris spoke with a finality that seemed to bring more tension rather than less to the room.

There was utter silence for a few beats as the words washed over everyone. No one was coming. No one was checking on them. No one was going to be standing over their shoulders to either hinder or help.

"There were supposed to be ninety two Peacekeepers stationed here - including the Head. There was some complaining - some louder than it should have been if they didn't want anyone to overhear them complaining - about some transfers that went through before replacements arrived. There were eighty seven here when everything . . . ."

"Upended on us like a manure cart," Haymitch offered. "What?" He defended when confused glances turned in his direction. "You all watched the same District designations video every year in school that I did. It's an appropriate image."

"If we could all focus please . . . ," Maysilee was startled to realize that the voice belonged to her.

"Sure, sweetheart," he replied with a wink. Her twin looked appalled. She tried to muffle the sound of her snorting as much as she possibly could. "Those numbers are all well and good, but they don't tell us what we're working with now. Day to day is only going to get us so far. If we are going to make this work well enough to get us through this winter, then we need a solid plan. If we're going to create a solid plan, then we're going to need solid numbers." No one seemed to be ready to argue Haymitch's point, but no one seemed ready to offer any suggestions either.

"I'll go," she finds herself saying before she even realizes that the words are about to bubble up out of her. She's not fond of this new habit she seems to be developing. Her vocal chords are supposed to be under her control.

"You'll go where?"

"Census the District," she says with a shrug even though internally she is busy demanding to know what it is that she's thinking. "It will have to be house to house, right? That's the only way to know for sure." Haymitch is snickering.

"Blondie's gonna wander around the Seam knocking on doors? I guess I'm going with her."

She looks at him in confusion even as she settles on the reason that she has volunteered. It needs doing, and she needs to see the damage she has caused first hand.

"I've been in the woods with you," Haymitch reminds her. "You have no sense of direction. We set you loose in the Seam on your own, and you're liable to never find your way back again."

Strangely, she thinks he is attempting to be both nice and helpful. Stranger still, Haymitch Abernathy is starting to make sense to her. She doesn't have time to consider it further before the meeting moves on to other things. She should be focused on those things. She should be listening and attempting to contribute (or, at least, paying attention to what else it may be that she could help with doing), but she isn't. She is caught up in her head at the sheer massiveness of what it is that she is about to start doing with the house to house process. Part of her is grateful that Haymitch will be tagging along (she imagines that there are likely to be multiple occasions where his presence will help to smooth the way); part of her is dreading the fact that he will have a front row seat to an experience that she is sure will feature several failures on her part.

Mr. Undersee makes his way over after they are dismissed and hands her a binder that she nearly drops in surprise at how hefty it actually is. It is full of page after printed page that proves to be the official domicile assignment list for District 12. Haymitch (surprisingly or not surprisingly - she cannot quite decide) is right at her elbow and takes it out of her hands with a grunt.

"I am not carrying that," he informs her with a look that implies that such a suggestion might have been on the cusp of being uttered. She reaches out to take it back from him, but he pulls it away from her and lets it land on the table with a thump. "Alphabetical or by address?" He asks the man who produced it.

"Oh," he says, "both. The first section is alphabetized. The second is the street by street index."

Haymitch pops the rings open and proceeds to pull the first section completely out of it before shoving the now loose pages at the other man. "You hold on to those in case we need them later," he tells him. "Much better," he comments as he hefts the lightened binder.

"Does that mean that you can carry it now?" Maysilee asks him.

"Not a chance," he smirks at her as he drops it. She reaches out instinctively to catch it before it can hit the ground. "This was your idea after all."


End file.
